


360

by GalekhXigisi



Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Universe - Human, Anxiety, Depression, Hospitals, I Die By My Own Sword, I Wrote This For Me But I Want Y'all To Read It, I'm A Very Sad Bitch, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Manipulative Relationship, Multi, No Beta, Sad with a Happy Ending, School Drop Out Mention, Trans Anxiety | Virgil Sanders, Trans Male Anxiety | Virgil Sanders, Transphobia, We Die Like Men, vent fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-17
Updated: 2019-06-17
Packaged: 2020-05-13 06:32:22
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,918
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19245748
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GalekhXigisi/pseuds/GalekhXigisi
Summary: Deceit (Damien) reflects on Virgil's life, or at least what he knows about it.





	360

**Author's Note:**

> Please tell me if I forgot any tags.

Virgil knows sacrifice a lot better than anyone gives him credit for, including himself. Damien glances at his boyfriend currently laughing at Patton, who hung off the chair, overturned with his own smile. Logan holds Patton’s waist, just barely keeping him from falling while Roman encourages their behavior, not minding their antics.

 

Virgil grew up with a giant family. He had nine aunts and uncles on his father’s side, two aunts on his mother’s, not even including his step-parents. It wasn’t like he saw them much, anyway. He never saw his mother’s first husband. All he knew was that the man was a verbally abusive piece of shit. His father was a verbally abusive alcoholic, only playing into his yelling when the kids were around, just him and his older brother, at first. He was thankful that his little sister never got into it. His father had quit that horrid addiction by the time she was able to actually start remembering stuff.

 

He calculates his life down to the minuscule details. He grew up paranoid, so aware of every noise and every possibility. His parents both worked jobs, constantly leaving the children at home after his sister turned four, after he turned nine, after his brother turned fourteen. Or, maybe it was thirteen… Virgil couldn’t remember now. His parents always worked three jobs, sometimes more, splitting the work together and having his aunt watch them. She didn’t really _“watch”_ them like a parent should have. All she did was watch, making sure they didn’t kill each other. He was just a kid and his memory was blurred and basically indecipherable, but he knew he never saw either of his parents on Saturdays. THose were days where his aunt would watch him and he would eat whatever was in the fridge, even if it wasn’t much.

 

The only reason his father had dropped drinking was because of money issues. That’s how things were. But Virgil knew that if he hadn’t dropped that shitty habit, things would be so much worse now. An entire pack a day was so far from healthy, so far from _okay._ Virgil wasn’t sure when exactly he knocked it, but he knew it was knocked at some point, gone in the wind, which he had been so incredibly thankful for.

 

They moved home after home when he got to fourth grade. There was nothing kept, nothing remembered. He changed schools, lost friends, lost a lot of things. He remembered one house that they completely walked out on, but he couldn’t remember which one. He knew that there was nothing to be saved. There were snake infestations, bugs, broke windows, and so on until Virgil just… Stopped caring. He kept things boxed up, ready to move, no matter how long they stayed somewhere. His room stayed blank and colorless. There stopped being a reason to take his things out. He had no childhood pictures anymore, just what his mother had posted on Facebook or his aunts had kept over the spanning years. He wanted to say it didn’t matter, kept the lie going with his family, but he cared so much. He wanted those pictures, wanted them to be held tight to his chest and everything to matter. However, he kept his silence, played joke after joke, didn’t dare let anyone consider otherwise.

 

He lived with his grandmother for a while, the last one alive. He stopped taking note of tax time being the only time they had money to spare. He ignored when they only got a new place to move in because the neighbors next door moved and decided that they would let rent slide from $1500 to just $1000 with utilities. It ended up being more, but he ignored that thought. He passed off the anxiety of knowing that they only paid month to month. If they wanted them out by the end of the month, that was it. They were gone and there was nothing they could do, forced back into their grandmother’s house without remorse for their wellbeing.

 

He met Deceit at some point in that time. Or, at least, that had been his nickname then. Only a few people knew Damien, knew who he was, had seen pictures of him. He was horrid then. Cringey, manipulative, a total _jackass._ It took so many people telling him the signs, telling him that their relationship was bad and so on. Virgil never once listened. That was until Damien shattered his heart with a cruel fight that left Virgil finally realizing all the signs. His world had become dark and Virgil broke off all contact with the other. Damien couldn’t blame him. He had been the absolute worst to Virgil.

 

He had spent years alone, no reason to live. The only reason he had kept going was the promise that they would move in together once they were old enough, get a home, have a few friends, maybe. It would get him out of that damned home where his dead name still remained and his family constantly ignored his pleas for help. Suicidal thoughts ran rampant but he stopped acting on them after a while, maybe once he hit mark seventeen or more. His arms became scar-filled instead of scabbed up, while was seemingly better. He had a car accident at one point, but the worst he ended up with was a fractured _(almost broken)_ ankle. Sure, it changed him a lot, but he was seemingly alright.

 

The next time he was in the hospital, it wasn’t his fault. He was dying, filled up with blood clots and losing oxygen quickly. He cried when he was told. _“One hour later and you would’ve died,”_ the nurse diagnosing him had supplied. She even had the audacity to get offended and upset when he burst into tears after his mom had asked if he was alright. The only constant in his life then had been Patton, though the two would rarely text, honestly. Their timezones were so starkly different and Virgil’s sleep schedule was horrid as could be.

 

_“Blot clots from only two weeks of estrogen,” a nurse asks, brow raised, “Never heard that before.”_

 

_Virgil glares at the woman, annoyed with her. “S’not the first time I’ve heard that,” he complains, though she can’t tell by his tone. He’s silently thankful about that, though he does cat his mother’s pointed glare. “I have an allergy to estrogen and a factor five heterozygous blood mutation. I have polycystic ovaries, which is the only reason this didn’t spur on early, as well as my anemia fucking with that, too. My testosterone is just slightly over my estrogen. It just barely saves me from dying. I can’t have any form of birth control and the only thing I can do to stay healthy is to take tell pills of progesterone every three months so that I don’t get cancer in my uterus. That’s the sum up.”_

 

_He’s told this story to countless doctor’s by now and it’s annoying him more and more each time he had to relay it for a new doctor to tell him that they’ve never seen a blood clot in a child, especially one so severe. He just wants it over with so that he can leave. Doctors make him antsy enough as is._

 

He had many cats, many dogs, sure. They all died or went missing. Hell, some were even stolen again and again. He couldn’t stop it. There was nothing he could do. He mourned their loss again and again, but it was pointless. He didn’t want to get attached. He stopped caring as bets died and died again and again. It was all _pointless._

  
He dropped out of school at just thirteen, which was the only thing that kept him from getting in more trouble when he was fourteen with the blood clots and countless doctor’s appointments. He ignored his health, ignored the constant anxiety that bombarded him again and again. His brother’s girlfriends passed again and again until he picked one that moved in instantly, kicked out from her mother’s home, bringing a child with her. They held jobs. His brother and his girlfriend, his parents, five jobs between all of them. Somehow, they still just barely held a house.

 

_“Five jobs, yeah,” he repeats to Roman with a laugh, playing it off. “I’m thinking about getting a job, too.”_

 

_Roman snorts from the other side of the line. “Won’t that get in the way of school?”_

 

_“I’m homeschooled, dumbass,” he supplies with the lie he’s so fluent in. He’s kept it going for almost two years without a singular hitch._

 

He gets a job, does what he can. He can’t afford _not_ to. They can’t afford their home, can’t afford to keep going. He can’t afford to die, either. Ten _thousand_ dollars for a funeral. That was just money they didn’t have. He rolls with the punches when his grandmother gets sick. He was her favorite, yes, despite the insults he had thrown at him when he had told her he was gay. She didn’t care about his pronouns. _Abomination_ was her favorite name for him, even if he hated it.

 

His life passed so numbly for years. His little sister got sick and the doctor bills were too much. His brother moved out, married with two children instead of just one. His father passed. And when his mother passed after he turned just eighteen, well…

 

Virgil found himself on Logan’s doorstep after an entire month of not talking to anyone. He couldn’t even help it. He was a mess, begging for a place to stay, just long enough for him to get everything together. Sure, he had money from his past case with the car accident, but the money would only save him for so long without finishing high school or having any sort of credits at all. Damien had been there, had heard it all, had _apologized_ to the Virgil. Thankfully for him, Virgil forgave him, even if it took six months for that. They forgave each other, not daring to forget, but definitely forgiving.

 

Patton and Roman soon moved in after Logan found classes for Virgil. Virgil was smart as Hell, could easily pass his classes without a single hitch, sure, but things were hard. He couldn’t fucking _help it._ He hadn’t done any school shit for so long that he often sought out Logan. He hadn’t fucking _needed it._ He couldn’t help his own damned dyslexia or anything.

 

He got over his abusive father just after finding out he was even abusive in the first place. He got top surgery, thankfully, which he was now healing from, sitting on the couch arm with a smile. He shouldn’t be up, they all know, but he never liked sitting around for too long. Whiskey, the service dog sat beside him, huffing with a smile-like expression, head on his owner’s laps.

 

He had sacrificed so much and yet… Here he was, standing proud and tall, ignoring the background bullshit for the current moment. He was on blood thinners again thanks to his surgery, but he had gotten the surgery and he was _thriving._ It was so much better than things could have been, like when he was ten and downing pill after pill in hopes of never waking up.

 

Damien smiles as he moves to the other, pressing a gentle kiss to each of their lips and one to Whiskey’s head. “I love you all,” he supplies.

**Author's Note:**

> Ayyyyyyyy
> 
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